


Darktown Healer

by DeCarabas



Series: Fugitives Together [42]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4974556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/pseuds/DeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We’ll have to get you another clinic one of these days."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darktown Healer

The Orlesian masks were uncomfortable, trapping his breath and his sweat and causing the bridge of his nose to itch; and it was surreal to hear Anders’ voice from behind the motionless features of a full face mask. But as fashion for fugitives went, Hawke couldn’t have asked for better. He could put up with a bit of discomfort for the chance to walk through the streets without worrying about anyone taking notice.

Although that was an illusion, in a sense. They were still being watched, but only in their temporary roles as hired guards for a minor lord, identifiable only by the design of their masks.

There was no escaping the Great Game in Val Royeaux. Even the movements of servants were always of interest to someone. But between the Grand Duke angling for outright civil war and the rising tensions in the Circles, the nobles were each scrambling to build up their private forces. The city was full of hired swords, and two more masked guards were the next best thing to invisible. Certainly there was nothing remarkable about the polearms they carried, or their occasional visits to a local chantry, far from the well-guarded Grand Cathedral; or the conversations they had there with one of the affirmed, a lay sister whose duties happened to include running errands to and from the nearby Circle.

A warren of alleys ran between Val Royeaux’s main thoroughfares, and side doors and servant’s entrances soon gave way to wooden homes clustered together, laundry hanging from ropes strung across second-floor windows. A stub-tailed cat that Hawke had grown to recognize was perched on a roof high above their heads, and flicked its ears in their direction as they passed.

Hawke had yet to see any templars visiting this neighborhood. The chantry was set apart by a low wooden fence, home to only one aging revered mother and the lay brethren who swept the floors and kept the candles lit.

As they came through the door, the sister they were looking for was kneeling over the body of an elf.

Sister Simone raised her head, looking more irritated than anything else. “He was just lying on the steps,” she said. “I sent for the herbalist, but—” She didn’t bother to finish, throwing up her hands.

A blue glow appeared in the air above Anders’ palms, and Hawke quickly shut the door behind them.

Hawke hadn’t realized at first that the man was still alive. On closer examination, the unconscious elf had taken a bad beating, and one of his legs was bent the wrong way, but his chest still rose and fell.

This wasn't the best of ideas. Not everybody appreciated the use of magical healing even from a Circle mage, nevermind an apostate, and this man was in no condition to give his opinion on the matter. There was a good chance they'd get a visit from the templars for their troubles. Or they could just let him bleed out, Hawke supposed.

But Anders was already kneeling by the patient's side.

Simone readily surrendered that position to him. "Thank the Maker you two finally showed up," she said to Hawke as she stood, brushing dust from her skirts, blanching as she noticed the dark stain at her knee.

“Where’s the revered mother?” Hawke asked her, glancing at the door to the living quarters. The revered mother didn't share Simone's sympathies.

She shook her head. “She’s been at the Grand Cathedral all day. And Theo’s gone for the herbalist; it’s just me here. And what am I supposed to do for him, hm?" She made a rude gesture in the direction of the door. "I’ll bet it was the damn chevaliers again.”

It could have been the chevaliers, or it could have been any of a dozen things. The whole city was on edge. For the most part, that had been working in their favor; not so much for the people who had to live here. And the neighborhoods closest to the Circle were the least likely to be judged worthy of receiving the Circle's aid, lacking the funds or influence to properly show their gratitude.

Hawke had picked up a little healing from Anders, enough to get them by in an emergency, but he didn’t have much of a knack for it. His own magic had always been a matter of blunt force. Unless Anders asked for a second pair of hands, it was better to stand back and watch him work.

Where Anders’ hand passed, flesh knit, wisps of spirit reminded body of how it used to be, and blood was wiped away to show only unmarked skin beneath.

He’d always loved to watch Anders work. Admittedly, Hawke hadn’t exactly appreciated it as much when they’d been living at the estate, on the days when he woke up and went to sleep without having seen Anders at all. But Anders’ posture would change when he stepped over the threshold of his clinic, even those times when the rest of them were exhausted and covered in spidor ichor; he’d murmur something about how he’d been neglecting his patients, and relax into an easy, confident stride, moving about the little sector of Darktown that he’d carved out and made safe for himself and for the refugees.

He seemed more comfortable in his own skin there than he’d ever been in Hightown. Purposeful. And there was something overwhelming about the sheer intensity of his focus, even when Hawke wasn’t the one on the receiving end of it. Maybe more so, for having a bit of distance to appreciate it. Reminded him of mornings on the road watching Anders warm up, his staff tracing meditative arcs through the air, slow, deliberate, and controlled.

Anders called Hawke over, directing him to hold the elf steady while Anders set his leg, a light sleep spell from Hawke ensuring he’d stay unconscious through the worst of it. It was strange watching Anders do this beneath the metal grimace of his Orlesian mask, expressionless except for the concern in his eyes.

Looking at that mask, Hawke realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Anders heal anyone but the two of them.

The sleep spell wore off while wisps of spirit energy still wreathed the patient’s leg, speeding the healing along. And as the patient stirred, he reacted about as well as Hawke had expected.

“Magic? You used magic on me?” He sounded as appalled as if the darkspawn taint had gotten beneath his skin.

“Keep your weight off that leg, you’re not done healing,” Anders said as he sat back.

“You’re welcome for saving your life,” Hawke added.

But the elf was already up and limping for the door. He stopped just outside, staring down at himself, then stuck his head back in and mumbled a thank you. And then he was gone.

“What do you think the odds are that he runs for the templars?” Hawke asked.

They went out through the back, just to be safe. Before they left, Sister Simone brought them the bundle of letters from the Circle that they’d originally come for, muttering about ingratitude as she did. Some of the messages were for them, but most were to be passed on through the Mage’s Collective. Nothing too sensitive among the latter. The branch of the Collective here had little in common with Kirkwall’s mage underground, and generally avoided politics; the templars turned a blind eye as long as the lyrium bribes kept coming, but that would change if the Collective started openly promoting revolution.

Simone was well practiced at deflecting attention. But the last thing they needed was for the templars to start looking into her and the errands she ran at the Circle.

Anders was rubbing idly at his wrist as they walked through the alley behind the chantry, and Hawke reached for his hand. The sharp, static feel of spirit magic still lingered invisibly around Anders’ fingers, as if he’d drawn on more energy than he knew what to do with. Hawke rubbed his thumb along those rough edges, seeking them out and soothing them away.

“We’ll have to get you another clinic one of these days.”

Anders’ mask turned toward him, tilted questioningly. “That’s… really not likely,” he said, his tone amused despite the mask's carved grimace. Hawke wondered if they’d have to find a new set of masks to hide behind, if the elf did decide to give the templars their description. Even odds, he figured. But at least that was one benefit of the Orlesian fashion - a change of masks, the emblem of one noble household swapped for another, and the hired guard who'd been seen using magic would simply disappear.

“Maybe not right now. But you’ve missed this. Healing people.” He disentangled their fingers and pulled off his own mask. Safer without it right now, until they knew what the elf was going to do.

After a moment, Anders followed suit. With the mask off, Anders scrubbed one hand over his face.

“I only learned it as a way out, you know. If you want a really nice, cushy job outside the tower, healing’s the way to go.” Anders’ lip twisted, the spirit in him cringing at his past mortal weaknesses. “Wouldn’t have worked. They knew better than to ever let me out. Unless they wanted to give me enough rope to hang myself with.”

Hawke wasn’t at all certain he believed that escaping had really been Anders’ only motivation through all the years he’d devoted to learning to heal. But he let that pass. “You’re out now,” he said instead.

“And apparently doing a fine job of hanging myself,” Anders said ruefully, raising the mask that dangled from his fingers. “If we have to run again because of something as ridiculous as this—”

Anders’ hair was flattened oddly where the mask had rested. Hawke reached out to smooth it back into place, and drew him in for a light kiss.

The last lingering sparks around Anders’ hands had faded when they parted again.

They may have run a long way from Darktown, and from the healer he'd first met, but some things didn't change.


End file.
